


Walk the line

by Soraya (soraya2004), soraya2004



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Foot Fetish, Kink/Cliche Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-04
Updated: 2008-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/Soraya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/soraya2004
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long walk leads John to a startling revelation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk the line

It sneaked up on him the way all his bad habits did; and since McKay was _his_ 'go to guy' for anything that involved saving their assess in a pinch, John kind of let it slide. He just didn't realize how bad things were until he started relying on McKay to bring one other vital component to the team: the mission soundtrack.

On the lecturing planets, McKay lectured; on the complaining planets, McKay complained; generally when a planet was neither, McKay tended to throw in a bit of both with a berating remix to shake things up a bit.

Sure, the berating _did_ kind of drive him a little crazy, but the craziest part was that he wouldn't have it any other way. He missed the blare of Cash in his ears whenever he went flying, and the sound of McKay ranting was the closest thing he'd found to that. Something about Rodney's voice seemed to shut the world outside. It was comforting, predictable even; and Christ, there were days when he just _needed it_ to anchor him in a life that was absolutely insane.

So on MX7-898, he didn't think twice about pushing all the right buttons to set Rodney off on: "Oh no! We're _walking_ again? Why are we walking? What's the point of even _having_ a Jumper if we have to walk everywhere?"

Ronon gave him a sour look.

"What?" John asked innocently, but Ronon clearly wasn't buying it.

Even Teyla looked like she wanted to murder something. "It is three miles to the village, John," she said under her breath.

" _Three_ ," Ronon stressed in case he'd forgotten somehow.

Which he hadn't; he knew exactly how far it was! Still, instead of apologizing, he said, "What's the matter? We've walked a lot further than that before."

Then he glared right back at both of them. He was the team lead, so _he_ got to pick the music; those were the rules. And so what if Rodney went on like a broken record whenever it came to unscheduled exercise. As far as he was concerned, a complaining McKay was a Rodney McKay that was healthy and happy enough _to complain_ , and he for one had no plans to change that any time soon.

"Don't forget we're sparring tomorrow," Ronon told him before moving ahead to take point.

Teyla sauntered past saying, "I believe I will join you, Ronon. It has been too long since we all sparred together."

Which _was_ a threat; they were both threatening him, God damn it!

Instinctively, he turned to Rodney for back up even though Rodney clearly hadn't noticed the power struggle going on around him. But as Rodney kept up that stream of complaints, John started to feel a little uneasy, mostly because motherhood had made Teyla even meaner with her Banto rods.

In the end, he decided that those odds didn't look good for him. So he fell in step with Rodney, making sure he grunted at appropriate intervals and occasionally pushed different buttons to switch tracks to something they could all live with.

***

Only something strange happened on the way to the village. Gradually and with very little button pushing on his part, Rodney drifted from his chosen track of 'Walking, ugh, walking bad' to something that went a lot like 'Pain, dear God, what is this foot pain'. From there, Rodney's complaining took a decidedly whining edge, and by the time they'd reached the village, even John felt like his nerves were fraying.

He told Rodney to sit out the negotiations. Which everyone was grateful for, especially their hosts, who chose to reward them all with 'a banquet of silent contemplation'. John wasn't sure what the hell _that_ meant, but since Rodney stopped moaning right about the same time the food came out, he didn't worry too much about it.

Later in the evening, he helped a much happier Rodney to the room they were sharing feeling quite pleased himself. His team was safe; they'd brokered a new deal for trade; Teyla and Ronon no longer looked like they wanted to kill him; all in all, he thought it was a pretty good day.

Rodney mumbled, "Oh, thank God, real beds," once they stumbled through the door.

So he let Rodney go, watching the way Rodney proceeded to clamber onto the bed and then flop down on his back. Then Rodney's boots went flying through the air swiftly followed by Rodney's socks. And as various other bits of clothing landed in front of him, John figured out why he let so many things slide where Rodney McKay was concerned.

***

He'd always had a thing for McKay's hands. If he was honest, he had a thing for McKay _period_. But those broad hands with their thick, long fingers were incredibly special to him. Rodney's hands had saved his life too many times to count. They'd pulled him out of danger and built him things that had made him scream with the pure joy of being alive. So in his mind, it didn't seem strange that he'd developed a bit of a crush on them.

Rodney's _feet_ , however . . ..

Well, _that_ was a surprise!

***

He was having a hard time dealing with it. That and his blatant hard-on while Rodney just lay there staring at the ceiling, oblivious as always. And how in almost five years of working together had he never noticed Rodney's feet before?

The only thing keeping him from howling with frustration was that they were there now, right in front of him. Where, apparently, they'd been hiding for years, waiting for just the right moment to show themselves to him. Waiting _for him_ to touch them, to jerk off all over them and then slowly lick his come off them, and—

 _Whoa_ , John took a step back. Where the hell had _that_ come from?

He was still feeling blindsided by the idea when Rodney threw a _full body stretch and writhe_ into the mix.

"This is unbelievable." Rodney sighed dramatically. "I mean, just unbelievable!"

"Hmmm," John agreed, distracted again. All he could think about now were toes. Pretty toes with their curved edges and buffed nails. He wondered if Rodney did anything special to get them all glossy like that or if they were just naturally pink and perfect. Maybe it was something in the labs because _his_ toes had never looked _that_ good, and Lorne's sure as hell didn't, so—

". . . the two together, Sheppard?"

"Huh?"

Rodney snapped his fingers the way he usually did whenever he got a brilliant idea. Only for some reason, Rodney seemed a little pissed. "Well, do you or don't you, Colonel? It's a simple question!"

John said, "Okay," not really sure what he'd agreed to, but he took another step back just in case.

He didn't think he could trust himself around Rodney any more, not with Rodney waving his feet around. And _oh God_ , definitely not with Rodney flexing and pointing them at him, showing off the gorgeous arches on those pale insteps that were just _begging_ to be touched or licked and nibbled and—

"I need some air," John said desperately. "You know, outside? Maybe with some walking and, uh, _outside_?"

He pointed at the door, praying Rodney wouldn't call him on how smooth _that_ had been. But Rodney just muttered, "Fine, go get your air," in a tone that made it clear that he wasn't happy about something.

Rather than stick around to find out what it was, John took the easier option, which was to get the hell out of there.

***

By the time he dragged himself back to the room, things were a lot worse.

While he'd been gone, Rodney had apparently found a bowl of some sort. Now Rodney was perched at the edge of their bed quietly soaking his feet. The air around him smelled sweet with tropical fruit and cocoa butter; and John knew right then that he was in serious trouble since Rodney clearly had no plans to put his feet away any time soon.

He stood there staring at them, feeling breathless and a little scared. Because apparently being aware that _he had a problem on his hands_ didn't make him any more able to handle it.

Rodney certainly didn't help by sneering, "Well, that was fast, even for you," before lifting both feet out of the water to wiggle his toes. "No, wait, let me guess: she turned you down, huh?"

Rodney put his feet back in the bowl then wiggled his toes again. And John watched the water ripple slowly around them, lapping gently around Rodney's ankles, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake. The kind of trail a tongue would leave. _His_ tongue, if he just reached out and—

"I could give you a foot massage," he heard himself say all of a sudden. "You know, so it's easier to walk back tomorrow," adding that part very quickly. Because his mouth would _not_ stop talking even though his mind kept _screaming at it_ that that was lame and that he was so busted he had nowhere left to hide!

But Rodney gasped, "Really?" sounding high-pitched and grateful.

"Oh yeah," John answered breathlessly.

After that, he looked up and cleared his throat in what he hoped was a manly way. Rodney was watching _him_ now through narrowed eyes. Which meant that Rodney was thinking and probably figuring things out with that massive brain of his. And _fuck_ , that was _not_ what he needed right now, not when he was _this_ close to getting everything he wanted. So he said, "Look, the last thing I want is to see you in pain. And I guess a foot massage would help. I mean, that's what friends are for, right?"

"Yes, yes, exactly!" Rodney nodded. "Of course, I would do that for you too. If you, uh, needed me to?" Except Rodney looked rather shifty when he said it, like someone who wouldn't do anything of the sort.

John felt a little pissed off about that. Still, it wasn't enough to stop him pulling up a chair and then sitting down in front of Rodney's feet.

***

John made sure he took plenty of time with them.

After drying Rodney's right foot and laying it on his lap, he switched his attention to the left. He started by rotating it gently from ankle to heel before he cupped the heel in one hand and used the other to roll Rodney's toes between his thumb and forefinger. Through it all, he kept his touch firm, careful not to fondle or caress or anything that could be construed as not 'massage-like' in any way. And he was doing so well till Rodney started making those sounds.

They were so quiet he almost didn't hear them at first. And once he did, he probably wouldn't have given them much thought if they hadn't sounded _exactly_ like the whimpers _he_ was struggling to hold back.

 _Now_ , he couldn't stop thinking about them, or about the way Rodney looked lying on his back with his eyes closed and mouth open. Just watching the flush stain Rodney's throat made the base of _his_ stomach flood with heat. And it gathered there, spreading pleasure through him in sweet, slow bursts until his skin was sweating and he was squirming in his seat, so turned on he could barely see straight.

He bent his head down, just low enough to breathe Rodney in. And the second he did, he knew he was lost. Because Rodney's feet smelled so good and they felt incredible, and he just _knew_ that they would taste even better. He flicked his tongue out a little, just enough to—

"Sheppard?" Rodney jerked against him eyes wide open now. "Oh my God, did you just—?"

"Look, do you want your feet rubbed or not?" John cut in, hoping the irritation in his voice would distract Rodney from the fact that, yes, he _had_ just licked his toes.

Rodney huffed, "Are you insane? Of course I do!"

"Then shut up and let me do this," John growled at him.

He was a little surprised when Rodney did just that. Honestly, he hadn't expected _that_ tactic to work. But since Rodney didn't seem to be in a hurry to wrench his foot away, John took one more deep breath before he started again.

This time, he went even slower, kneading the sole with both thumbs, gradually working his way up from heel to toe and then back down again. He applied more pressure to the ball of Rodney's foot, loving the way Rodney gasped when he did that. And even though a part of him was expecting it, it still took him by surprise when Rodney made that _sound_ again.

" _Jesus_ , Rodney," he whispered, not sure if he should stop.

But Rodney just pushed his foot up higher, making another one of those breathy sounds. _This_ one caught low in Rodney's throat, as though Rodney had tried to muffle it, but it had slipped through somehow. And John couldn't help responding to that kind of need, pressing deep and hard with his thumbs until he found a knot of nerves that made Rodney keen out loud.

"More?" he whispered, pressing down again.

And Rodney shivered and arched up toward him, panting, "Yes, oh God, right _there_!"

So he kept on rubbing that spot, watching Rodney writhe with sensation and the way Rodney's face flushed and his nipples tightened and how, slowly, Rodney got hard.

After that, _he_ was the one making those rough, low sounds while he stared at Rodney, trying not to read too much into Rodney's arousal, telling himself that it was just a natural reaction to a good massage. But he was so hard now he was _aching_ , and how ever much he tried, he couldn't ignore Rodney's _other_ foot lying there in his lap. The heat from it was driving him crazy, because it kept _slipping_ , sliding nearer his groin every time Rodney writhed against him.

Finally, John begged, "Rodney, please, you've got to keep still," when he just couldn't take it any more.

But either Rodney didn't hear him or Rodney didn't care, because Rodney kept on writhing and shifting that foot until suddenly it was right where he wanted it the most, heel pressing right against the head of his cock.

" _Rodney_ ," he whined, broken, desperate.

"No, no, it's okay," Rodney told him, sounding almost as wrecked as he was.

And suddenly, just sitting there and _taking it_ wasn't enough for him any more. It wasn't anywhere near what he really needed. So he turned his face into Rodney's instep and flicked his tongue out again, not caring how many lines he'd crossed.

"I _want_ ," he admitted very softly. "Rodney, I need to—" he swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment, shivering at the feel of Rodney's foot sliding over his groin.

He pushed into it then, he couldn't help himself, letting his thighs fall open, giving Rodney all the room he needed to slide in-between. And when Rodney pressed down with the ball of his foot and started _kneading_ with his toes as well, John knew that it was all over.

He tipped his head forward, shaking as the pleasure rolled through him, feeling his breath catch while his hips jerked with every thick, wet pulse from his cock. And once his legs had finally stopped trembling, he sank back into his chair breathing heavily through his nose, trying _not_ to look like he'd just come in his pants.

***

Surprisingly, the aftermath was nowhere near as awkward as John thought it would be.

Rodney mumbled, "So, you're in to feet, huh?" from underneath the covers while they both settled down for the night.

"I guess." John rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "That going to be a problem for you?"

"No, no, I can work with feet." Only suddenly it seemed it was Rodney's turn to get a little jumpy. "Okay, you should probably know that I'm actually quite dextrous with my feet. So later, if you want I could, uh, you know . . .."

After Rodney trailed off making the universal hand motion for 'jerk you off', John raised both eyebrows, stunned. "Seriously? You can do that?"

"Yes, of course I can!" Rodney huffed. "But, uh, only if you're in to that," he added very quickly.

John nodded and said, "Yeah, okay," trying to seem cool about it and _not_ like he was 'high fiving' himself inside. Which he was.

He curled up next to Rodney, spooning up behind him, noting that Rodney's jumpiness wasn't going away. If anything, it seemed to get worse once their feet found each other and tangled together. He knew it was only a matter of time before Rodney blurted out what was bothering him. Still, he couldn't help getting a little tense wondering what the problem was.

"Rodney," he growled, making Rodney let out a heavy sigh.

"Okay, it's just I thought that, if it were _anything_ , it would be . . .."

"What?" he pressed after Rodney trailed off again.

"Well, my hands to start with, or maybe my nipples. You _do_ stare at them a lot."

John flinched; he didn't think he'd been _that_ obvious about it.

"Oh, don't pretend that you don't," Rodney snapped at him. "Not when I've put a lot of effort into making them noticeable. But _now_ you tell me that it's _feet_! I mean, how am I supposed to do _that_ with my feet if I'm stuck wearing shoes all day?"

In the middle of Rodney's rant, several things occurred to him:

  1. Apparently, Rodney had been trying to attract his attention for some time;
  

  2. Rodney did some of his best work under pressure; and
  

  3. He was absurdly happy about points one and two.

He hid his smile in Rodney's hair, feeling the tension seep slowly out of his body; and moments later, when it looked like Rodney was finally starting to wind down, he murmured, "You're smart, buddy! I'm sure you'll think of something!"

  
The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Answers the 'foot fetish' prompt on my [](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://community.livejournal.com/kink_bingo/) card


End file.
